


Loki: Mischief in Midgard

by GoddessOfStories



Category: Iron Man (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), Loki: Agent of Asgard, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Asgard (Marvel), Awesome Frigga (Marvel), Frigga (Marvel) Knows All, Gen, Loki (Marvel) Feels, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Loki (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Odin (Marvel)'s Bad Parenting, Pre-Thor (2011), Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Trickster Loki (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23230165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoddessOfStories/pseuds/GoddessOfStories
Summary: Thor is tired of Loki's mischievous ways. To teach his brother how to act like a prince, Thor proposes a special educational trip to Midgard.
Relationships: Frigga | Freyja & Loki (Marvel), Frigga | Freyja & Thor (Marvel), Loki & Thor (Marvel), Loki & Tony Stark
Comments: 7
Kudos: 106





	1. A Realm of Possible Princeliness

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic! I hope you enjoy :)

Loki sat sideways on the throne with all the elegance of a true king. A plush green pillow cushioned his back as he flipped through the pages of a book, legs kicked up leisurely over the throne’s arm, gold light slipping over the leather of his boots. He sighed, letting the book rest face-open on his chest. What fun was breaking rules when there was no one to catch you?

As boredom solidified in Loki’s skull, he tilted his head back. The ceiling mural filled his vision. Soft pastels of the bifrost bridge, gowned Asgardians and menacing frost giants. Asgard’s all-too-perfect history, capsulized in paint and gold. Loki’s eyes were drawn naturally to a slim figure draped in green. Disdain flowered within him as he observed the figure’s menacing smirk, one ghost white hand placed schemingly over the other. Loki narrowed his eyes. Now what mewling lowlife was responsible for depicting the flawless trickster god as an evil creep? Who would dare dress him in robes that did absolutely nothing for his figure? And who would paint Thor like a pretty little princess, regally posed with shiny golden hair and a flowing cape? Odin. All-Father. AKA, the Old-Man-Who-Naps-When-Times-Are-Tough.

The still of the throne room was broken by heavy footsteps and a booming voice. “Loki!”

Loki was jarred from his art-critique. Thor couldn’t stand to pass up a dramatic entrance. “Hello, brother.”

“Loki, what are you doing on father’s throne?” Thor demanded.

Loki examined his nails. “Sitting.”

The Odinson was unamused. “Father would be furious! You must get down from there.”

“Yes?” Loki questioned plainly, lifting the book from his chest and dissolving the pages into nothingness in a flash of green. In its place appeared a small glass bottle of nail polish his mother had given him for his birthday. He unscrewed the cap, continuing smugly, “Well father isn’t using it at the moment, is he?”

“Brother,” Thor said, superiority woven through his voice and glimmering in the engravings of his silver armor. “There are rules. The throne is for the king. And that title must be earned.”

Loki rolled his eyes.

Thor paced forward, boots resounding against the slick gold floor. “This is no light matter, brother. This,” he said, gesturing to Loki the wave of a hand, “This is not the demeanor of a prince.”

“Do excuse me,” Loki replied, carefully coating the nail of his thumb with black polish. “You were starting to sound so much like father I threw up in my mouth a little.”

“Loki…” Thor’s words took the tone of a master dismayed by the disruptive manner of his pet wolf. “All this mischief, all these games… it’s a bit childish, wouldn’t you agree?”

Loki couldn’t help himself but laugh. “What nonsense has Odin worked into that thick skull of yours? Just yesterday you spent hours screaming after a bird you thought was a dragon. And proceeded to chase it to its gold until you tripped and fell in a ditch.” Loki finished painting the nails of one hand, holding them out to admire. “Very mature indeed.”

Thor brushed away his embarrassment, trying to reason. “Brother. It was wonderful in our youth to throw each other around, but—”

“Fun for you to throw me, you mean,” Loki interjected. “Directly at guards.”

“Yes, precisely,” Thor agreed, not skipping a beat. He shook his head. “But then there was that one time you told me a traitor in Asgard was planning to attack father. That they would come into his room late at night and slay him where he lay. So I set a trap. But you made that whole traitor thing up, and father was stuck in a cage. And then I had to clean the horse stables for ten years after that.”

Loki smiled proudly, pausing before painting the nails of his second hand to savor the memory. “How could I forget?”

“Well, you see, tricks can hurt people,” Thor insisted. Pure blue dignity shimmered in his eyes, his tone matter-of-fact. “And I have taken the duty upon myself to correct you in your mischievous ways.”

Loki stared at Thor, waiting for him to crack a smile, say he was kidding. But Thor was not one for jokes. “You really don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Thor said earnestly. “But you are my little brother, Loki, and I am obligated to look out for you.”

“And where did this come from?” Loki questioned, attempting to remind Thor who it was he wanted to mentor. “As I recall, you’ve done quite a poor job of looking out for me before I stab you in the back.”

“See, brother!” Thor motioned to Loki with both hands, as if his entire being was cause for disappointment. “This is exactly what I’m speaking of. It hurts when you sink your dagger into someone else.”

At this profound wisdom, Loki carefully screwed the cap on to his bottle of nail polish. “Oh dear. I had no idea.”

“You must think more of your actions,” Thor continued, ignoring Loki’s comment. “And as much of your mischief is made on Midgard… I have planned a special trip.”

“Ooh,” Loki said, voice dripping with syrupy sarcasm. “So you’re a travel agent now. Hero of realms not working out?”

Thor hesitated before pretending to understand the Midgardian profession. “Not an agent of travel, brother. An agent of destruction.” He smiled at the sound of the title before adding helpfully, “Destruction of mischief.”

Loki delicately placed the bottle of black polish on the arm of Odin’s throne. “I’m terrified.”

Thor’s voice swelled with excitement. “Now, enough changing the pigment of your fingernails to appear more menacing! Heimdall awaits us.”

Loki sighed, lightly blowing on his nails before swinging his legs off the chair and standing with a dramatic stretch. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”


	2. Lesson One: How to Give a Proper Hug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor's first lesson for Loki turns into a fashion critique. And of course the princes of Asgard need some proper clothes.

The bifrost always made Loki sick to his stomach. And with the added embarrassment of Thor explaining his educational field trip to Heimdall, it had already amounted to a traumatic day. But if the turmoil of between-realm travel hadn’t already aged him a few years, crashing to Earth in the middle of a busy intersection surely cut his lifespan in half. Loki’s senses flooded with bright lights and the screech of wheels and blaring horns and the dreadful scent of rubbish that hung in Midgard’s air like cheap perfume. A dusty Midgardian carriage jerked to a stop an arm span away, blasting Loki with emissions. The muggy fumes stung his eyes and rushed into his lungs, wrenching out a fit of coughs as he staggered forward, slamming into the front of the carriage. He pressed his palms on the glass to straighten himself and glared at the wide-eyed mortal inside. Fighting off the urge to vomit, Loki stepped back and brushed himself off. 

“I always forget how disgusting this planet is,” he muttered.

Thor, having dented the front of a carriage that stopped a second too late, was beaming at the chaos around him. He laughed heartily among the chorus of Midgardians, half of them screaming what Loki assumed to be biting insults, and the other half gasping at the appearance of a tall muscular man with flowing golden hair. “I do so love Midgard!” He waved at the man behind the glass of the smashed carriage. 

Loki sighed with exasperation. He strode to Thor and snatched his cape in a fist, yanking him toward the sad grey excuse for a pathway. “Come on,” he said, in the tone his mother used when Thor tracked mud into the royal halls. Loki dragged him through the tangle of screams and fumes and metal and lights. Finally, they reached the pathway. It was a thin strip of stone that ran along the buildings, cracked and littered with discarded items. Loki released Thor’s cape and placed his hands on his hips, looking down at his boots disdainfully.

“Wonderful. This filth is going to muck up my new boots.”

“Oh, brother, stop being so dramatic.” Thor tilted his face to the hazy heavens, Earth’s star depressingly dull. “It is a beautiful day! The sun is shining, the sky is blue—”  
Loki was beginning to feel nauseous from Thor’s oncoming sappy speech, so he cut him off before he could elaborate on the weather. “You owe me new boots.”

The mortals on the pathway had begun to form a crowd around them, muttering among themselves. One man was laughing. “Hey, guys, Comic-Con’s not for another three months.”

Loki assumed his all-realm translator had been broken. “Pardon?” 

The man gestured to their clothing. “What are you two supposed to be, anyway?”

Loki inspected the man’s wrinkled grey t-shirt and tan shorts, garments drowning him as if seeking revenge for their neglect. The proportions twisted Loki’s face into an automatic cringe. How was such clothing permitted by the law? He stared at the pouch buckled at the man’s waist, the lumpy discolored white paired with a distasteful orange zipper. Loki touched his own green robes delicately, tracing the intricate shoulder armor to assure himself that beautiful clothes still existed. With the man in his sight, he was certain fashion could fall no lower. But then, like a hungry vortex, the man’s footwear caught hold of Loki’s gaze. Pure terror pierced through his heart as his eyes met the hideous sandals, straps the green of wilted salad enclosing thick white socks that stretched to the knee. Loki was struck with a spell of dizziness. He wrinkled his nose and took a deliberate step back, sure the smell of rot and dead things had intensified with this man’s arrival. “I’d ask the same of you,” he remarked, voice dripping with disgust.

“Loki. Manners,” Thor chided. Thor. The big oaf who inhaled his food like a black hole and couldn’t seem to use his fork and knife properly after a thousand years of etiquette training. His eyes lit up suddenly. “This shall be our first lesson!”

“Monsters of Hel,” Loki murmured. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“So! Loki,” Thor began, “The proper way to greet the beings of another planet is as follows.” He turned to the man with revolting footwear. “Hello, little mortal. I am Thor Odinson of Asgard. We come in peace. What is your name?”

“Uh… Joe,” the man said, unsure.

“Joe!” Thor bellowed. “Wonderful! Joe of Midgard, it is a pleasure to grace your realm.” He extended his arms, and before the man could escape, locked him in an embrace. 

“I… err…” The man looked around frantically, arms useless against Thor’s iron grip. “Someone help?” he squeaked. Loki was fairly certain Thor was crushing the unfashionable life from the mortal’s lungs. After an uncomfortable period of time, Thor finally loosened his hold. The man staggered back, gulping in deep breaths. 

Thor beamed proudly. “And there you go. Proper greeting completed.” He looked at Loki, tone earnest. “Did you catch all of that?”

Loki watched the sad, tasteless little mortal as he braced his hands against his knees, wheezing. “You informed him of your identity, extracted his, and proceeded to squeeze him near to death.”

“It’s called a hug, brother.”

Loki tore his eyes away from the man’s abomination of an outfit and leveled his gaze with Thor’s. “Well. If you had paid any attention in your classes, you would know that beings of many realms are offended by such physical contact.”

Thor laughed heartily. “Please. In what case would a hug have negative consequence?”

A thousand devastating scenarios rattled through Loki’s mind, each involving beastly creatures and a misplaced embrace. Naturally, a disaster of an All-Father’s Day was among these. Loki settled for a more fiery example. “Hug a being of Muspelheim and you’ll be scorched.” 

“Yes,” Thor agreed, “A warm embrace!” He extended his arms, beaming. “Come, brother. Practice.”

In the dull light of Midgard, gold hair turned silvery and bright eyes chilled to ice, the Odinson looked all too much like his father. Suddenly small, Loki was drenched in Thor’s shadow. His brother could make every mistake, fumble with formalities, turn allies to enemies, provoke raging wars, and the odds would always favor him. Loki was the one who made mistakes. He was the one whose behavior needed correcting, whose attempts to please his father always failed, who was cast aside. At banquets. During training. In the murals of the palace, his inferiority solidified. Loki looked up at his brother. That was Odin’s stance, afraid of nothing, Odin’s strength, his command, his power. What did Loki have? What had his father given him? A pang of jealousy shot through his chest like a lead-tipped arrow. “Hug me and you’ll find a dagger in your gut,” Loki snapped. He hadn’t meant for the words to be so bitter, but he couldn’t let Thor see the regret in his eyes. He turned briskly, unsettled by the wave of emotion. Tilting his chin up, Loki shoved past the poorly-dressed man. “Out of my way!” He yelled, the mortals scuttling to the sides of the pavement. Loki smoothed his hair, placing his footsteps with precision. Sharp strides, shoulders back, heel to toe. Poised and elegant. If he wasn’t a true prince, he would make sure no one could tell.

“Loki!” Thor chased after him. “Loki, you didn’t complete the lesson!”

“Dear me, how rude,” Loki said evenly, coming to an abrupt stop. He turned to face his brother. “Would you like that dagger sharp or extra-sharp?”

Thor sighed. “Threatening to stab someone is not good manners.”

“Really?” Loki asked, saturating his words with feigned surprise. “Shocking.” Eager to change the subject, he glanced around the pathway. He suddenly became aware of the staring mortals surrounding them. The stream of Midgardians slowed in their gait as they passed the two gods, eyes catching Thor’s vibrant cape and Loki’s elaborate robes. “It appears to me,” Loki mused, inspecting the diverse Midgardian wardrobe, graphic t-shirts and torn blue jeans, various jackets covered in decorative metal circles, spiked at the shoulders, puffing up like dragons about to breathe fire. “We must blend in if we don’t want these mortals to notice your lunacy.”

“Blend in?” Thor asked, oblivious to the stares. “How do you mean?”

For the first time since he had crashed into the grimy realm, Loki allowed a thin smile to cross his lips. “Magic.”

“Oh.” Thor hesitated. “You’re not going to turn me into a frog, are you?”

Loki sighed. “You ruin all my fun.” He looked at Thor for a moment, weighing his options. So many hideous garments to choose from. Capri pants? A tie-dye suit? Or the life-sucking combination of socks and sandals? Finally, he made his decision. He waved his fingers delicately, washing Thor’s armor away with shimmering green and morphing the clothes into a white T-shirt and light jeans. Green letters began to glow on the shirt. They flickered with brief hesitation before solidifying in clean black text: Iam Anidiot.

Thor looked down at the shirt. He pulled on the edge, stretching the fabric in an attempt to read the phrase. He frowned. “What does it say?”

“Iam Anidiot.” Loki grinned. “Iam’s a famous singer in Midgard. He’s all the rage.” 

“I see,” Thor said slowly, letting go of the shirt. “And I am impersonating this Iam?”

“Precisely,” Loki replied, amused. At the suggestion of identity theft, he couldn’t help but add a final touch. The bridge of Thor’s nose shimmered green and solidified into a pair of cheap black sunglasses. 

Thor touched the sunglasses, proud of the disguise. “Iam Anidiot. It has a nice ring to it, wouldn’t you agree brother?”

Loki smirked, ignoring the faint twist of pity in his stomach. “Oh yes. It certainly suits you.” He looked down at his own robes, then glanced around in search of elegant pieces of Midgardian clothing. They were, he noted with disdain, dreadfully sparse. After singling out a few adequate garments, he wrapped himself in magic, light sparkling like viper scales until it faded into a deep green sweater overlayed by a black wool peacoat. Light flashed at his sleeves, revealing small golden cufflinks engraved with intertwining snakes. Loki fit himself with slim black trousers, enhancing the leather of his boots with a glossy shine. And finally, for an element of fluidity, he wove a deep green scarf from his magic, threading it with fine gold and draping it loosely around his neck. “There,” he announced, the final glow of green light fading from his outfit like the last notes of a symphony.

Thor stared at him, then looked down at his own T-shirt. “Didn’t you say we should blend in?”

“I have to look my best, brother.” Loki sighed dramatically. “It’s a burden I must carry. One of the Asgardian princes has to look presentable, after all.”


	3. Lesson Two: What Children Really Want is Cap and Kittens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Thor's lesson on how to give a hug crumbles, he is struck with a new idea— Give young mortals magical gifts so they worship the Asgardian princes as gods. Surely this will be a simple task for Loki. Right?

Thor opened his mouth to respond, but paused when he noticed a patch of grass across the street. He slipped off his glasses, intrigued. A herd of children were scampering around, mounting benches and slipping down curved structures. Some dangled from metal bars. Others kicked their small shoes as they swung through the air on plastic seats suspended by chains. Loki watched as the gears clicked into motion inside Thor’s skull, blue eyes brightening. “Next lesson!” He boomed. “We must help these small mortals. Little ones like these shall pray to us one day. If they are to worship us as gods, we must listen to their needs and respond accordingly.”

“They do seem to be in desperate need of leadership,” Loki noted, watching the children scurry about.

Thor smiled at Loki’s hint of enthusiasm. “Wonderful! Our lesson awaits,” he proclaimed, shoving his glasses on and running immediately into traffic. The Midgardian carriages blared their horns. Thor’s white T-shirt stood out among the network of metal and cement. From this angle, the text on the back of the shirt was visible, proclaiming boldly: Kick me. Loki had nearly forgotten this detail. He folded his arms and smiled as Thor climbed over a carriage, secretly wondering if his bitterness had made the shirt on its own account. It was best, he decided, not to overthink things. Might as well enjoy the prank while he could. Loki strolled casually down to the crosswalk to the music of a stubborn god pushing through metal vehicles and angered civilians threatening to call police enforcement. When Loki arrived at the playground, Thor had pushed the sunglasses up off his eyes, his forehead beaded with sweat and hands streaked with grime.

He smiled brightly. “Let us bring joy to these younglings!” 

“Let’s,” Loki replied mildly.

Thor stomped eagerly through the grass. Loki followed, carefully navigating around patches of wet mud. He hoped Thor hadn’t forgotten about the new boots he owed. 

The small Midgardians began to cluster around the two gods. One girl, two dark braids falling down her shoulders, giggled when she saw the back of Thor’s shirt. “Kick me,” she read.

Thor turned around, furrowing his brow. “Why would I do such a thing, tiny one? We come as benevolent gods. My brother here can make your wishes come true.” He patted Loki’s shoulder affectionately. 

“He’s scary,” a little boy said, staring up at Loki. “Is he a vampire?”

Loki folded his arms. “Are you a dwarf?”

The boy had fixated on Loki’s hair. “Why is your hair wet?”

Loki decided he did not like children. “It’s not.”

The boy was confused. “Yes it is. It looks like it.” He stuck his fingers into his own messy brown hair. “My mommy says you shouldn’t go outside when your hair is wet. You can get a cold.”

“I don’t get cold,” Loki said impatiently. 

“Children!” Thor called, trying to divert the subject. “My brother can do magic. He will give you whatever your small heart desires.”

The boy looked up, smiling. “I want to meet Captain America!”

“Who?” Thor asked, confused.

Loki, though, knew the star-spangled onesie all too well from his previous excursions to Midgard. “I’ve got this,” he said. Magic enveloped him in a flash of green, softening his features into parental eyes and a righteous jaw, clothes morphing from elegance to a skin-tight suit the blue of patriotism. He examined the excess of stars and stripes, admiring his work. He quite liked this illusion. Perhaps it would prove useful one day. Loki posed, placing his hands on his hips.

The boy gasped. “Captain America!” He exclaimed.

“Yes,” Loki agreed in the Captain’s voice, a flat accent with hard rs and an entire lack of beauty. He continued, infusing his words with an air of integrity. “It is I. The captain of our great nation. And I’m here to tell you to eat all your vegetables. Even the green ones. They’ll make you strong like me.” He flexed his muscles dramatically. “They’ll make you strong like America! Oh, say can you see—”

The little girl was bursting with excitement. “My turn! My turn! I want a kitty!” 

“A kitty,” Loki repeated, letting his glamour melt back into his Midgardian clothes, voice returning to its usual eloquence. He looked at Thor and smiled.

Thor caught the look in Loki’s eye. “Brother…” He warned. “If you do what I think you’re going to do, I—” Thor’s skin flashed with green magic, his words cut off as he transformed into a small golden kitten. He meowed, then hesitated. His blue eyes narrowed as he glared up at Loki.

The girl squealed with glee. She ran to Thor and scooped him up in her tiny arms. “A kitty!” She cheered. Laughing, she grabbed him under his front legs and hoisted him above her head. “I’m going to name her Fluffy!”

Loki smiled. There was nothing quite like the imagination of a child.

The girl swung the kitten-god around before curling him in her arms. “We’re gonna be best friends,” she promised. She skipped around the plastic structures, kitten-god meowing in protest. After several minutes of Loki’s thorough amusement, watching his brother skid down a yellow tunnel and cling to a plastic seat as he was launched into the air, Thor finally managed to spring free. He bounded to Loki, arching his back as he faced the girl and hissing defiantly.

“She really is fluffy, isn’t she?” Loki remarked, bending to pick Thor up with one hand. He delicately placed the Kitten of Thunder in the crook of his arm. Thor meowed loudly. Profanities, Loki could tell. “What’s wrong, kitty? Do you want some milk?” He surveyed the surrounding buildings. Where would a kitten stir up the most excitement? Midgardians exited shops clutching bags overflowing with clothes, thin books with vibrant graphics on the covers, and strangely colored drinks halfway filled with small dark spheres. Humans were such strange creatures. Loki’s gaze was drawn to a shop that stood taller than the others. It was a clean structure with long panes of sparkling glass and a blue-paneled roof. A circular emblem glowing with the same frosty light of The Casket of Ancient Winters was centered above the tall windows. The light outlined a helmet, two small rectangles and a serious mouth that dipped into points at the edges. Loki tilted his head to read the silver block letters at the edge of the roof: Starkbucks. So the establishment belonged to Tony Stark. Naturally. Loki watched as a pair of Midgardians strolled out the sliding glass doors, fingers curled around large red cups with golden lids. It was a beverage store, then. Bountiful refreshments, plenty of fancy things to break… And of course the kitten needed his treat. “Ah, Fluffy dear, I found just the place.” Loki glanced down at the children. “Farewell, small mortals. Make some trouble for me.” He strode through the grass and onto the pavement, holding the silver sign in his sight and stroking Thor’s fur mockingly.


	4. Lesson Three: Tony Stark has a Big Brain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Thor's wild adventure as a kitten, it's time for the princes of Asgard to stop for a refreshment. And where better to do that than Starkbucks, owned and operated by the world's favorite playboy billionaire philanthropist? Loki wouldn't try to stir up chaos in a coffee shop. Would he?

As Loki advanced toward Starkbucks, a horde of mortals fawned over the kitten in his arms. Being a kind god, he invited a generous amount to pet his beloved Fluffy. By the time they had reached the beverage shop, the Kitten of Thunder was just on the brink of murder. Loki perceived from the tone that his brother was hissing a string of old Norse curses. He couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps he enjoyed looming over his brother a little too much. How strange to look down into the eyes of a thunder god. In any case, Thor could use a taste of what it felt like to be small. Shoved around. Tossed at royal guards. It was all perfectly justified, it was all good fun. Wasn’t it?

Brushing away his thoughts, Loki entered the spotless glass doors. The moment he stepped in, a woman gasped at what an adorable little kitten Loki had in his arms.   
That was Thor’s breaking point. He exploded into a fit of hissing and scratching and biting, attacking Loki’s hand with electric aggression.

“Hey, hey! Quit it!” Loki commanded. His brother was not one to reason. Unhooking Thor’s claws from his sleeve, Loki tossed his brother to the ground. He glanced up at the woman and smiled apologetically. “Sorry. She’s a bit grumpy today.” With that, he waved his hands over the kitten and allowed Thor’s feline form to dissolve.   
In a vortex of green light, Thor morphed from kitten to towering god of the storm. “Loki!” He roared, face burning red and hands tightened into fists.

“Quiet down,” Loki said, brushing his coat off with composure. He examined his nails carefully, continuing with slight annoyance. “Your claws nearly chipped my nail polish.”

“That should be the least of your worries right now,” Thor growled, voice booming like thunder. “I don't know why I thought I could teach you the ways of a prince.”

Loki folded his arms, knowing tranquility would irritate Thor more than anger ever could. “Neither do I. I’m obviously not the one who needs teaching.”

“Is this a joke to you, brother?” Thor fumed, “It was horrifyingly embarrassing! I am Thor, son of Odin, master of storms. Not Fluffy! And I’m not a girl, either!”

“Why not?” Loki questioned, “I’m a woman from time to time. You really need to be more open minded.” He glanced around at the suddenly silent mortals. “Nothing to see here,” he assured the crowd. He looked to the window and squinted, feigning intrigue to divert the Midardians’ attention. “Is that Tony Stark holding hands with Captain America?”

“I am not finished,” Thor continued, rage cooling into exasperation, “You cannot turn other people into kittens whenever it pleases you.” 

“It was not for me, brother,” Loki reasoned, “The child wanted a kitty. As you said, we must show them kindness if they are to worship us.” Several Midgardians had plastered themselves against the window to catch a glimpse of Loki’s proposed power couple, clearing a path to the purchasing counter. Loki smiled at Thor. “Perhaps a drink will ease your frustration?”

Thor sighed. “I suppose…” 

“Fantastic.” Loki turned on his heels and brushed past a silver Iron Man suit as it attempted to pull Midgardians from the glass and clean the fingerprints. 

Behind the counter was another suit, this one gold and red with a blue apron tied neatly around its waist. Loki squinted into its glowing eyes, trying to work out if there was a person inside.

“Welcome to Starkbucks,” the suit said in a pleasant male voice, “What can I get you today?”

“My brother Iam and I are new to this establishment,” Loki said, gesturing to Thor, face still sullen from his adventures as a kitten. “What would you recommend?”

“Our signature drink is the Stark Switched to Solar Power So It Will Never Be Dark Dark Roast,” the suit recited. 

Loki was beginning to think the entire business was an advertising stunt. The drinks could taste like soap and mortals would still buy them out of adoration for their favorite superhero. Still, Loki couldn’t pass up a witty remark. “Well. It does have dark in the name.”

“The term is fitting,” the suit agreed. Its eyes glowed brighter, scanning Loki’s outfit. “Your coat is very nice.”

Loki smiled. The only beings with taste were androids and gods.

The suit gestured to three display cups. “What size would you like?” As it spoke, it illuminated the cups with a soft light from its hand. “Itty Bitty, Basic, or Tony’s Brain?”

Loki examined the third cup, red imprinted with a gold logo and taller than his face. “I take it Tony’s Brain is the largest?”

“Yes,” the suit affirmed. “Mr. Stark named the sizes himself.”

“You’d never know.”

“I want a bottomless glass of mead!” Thor interjected, voice resounding like thunder.

The suit stared at Thor. “I’m sorry sir. This is a coffee shop.”

“I don’t know what it is, this coffee. But I want mead.” 

“We do not sell mead,” the suit replied apologetically. “Perhaps you would like to try our special, the Oh Frap, There’s Shrapnel In My Heart Frappuccino. It comes with Arc Reactor Blue Syrup and bits of cookie.”

Anger began to stir once again in Thor’s stormy eyes. “I am a god, you puny…” Loki did his brother a courtesy and elbowed him in the side. “Hey!” Thor hesitated, pushing his sunglasses down over his eyes and crossing his arms. “As the renowned singer Iam Anidiot, I command you to make me my desired drink.”

As much as Loki was enjoying this trainwreck, he decided to spare his brother an ounce of embarrassment. “He’ll have the Shrapnel Frappuccino. The size of Tony’s brain.”

“I do not want the shrapnel,” Thor protested. 

“It is very popular,” the suit said. “Customers love our specials.”

“Love your specials,” Thor repeated. Loki could nearly see the idea spark in his brother’s eyes through the glasses. “Loki! I know the next lesson. Be kind to your people!” His voice rumbled with renewed excitement. “After being victorious in battle, a generous king treats his warriors to mead. The Midgardians love these drinks, yes? You shall order drinks for them! Use your mind, brother. Create the maximum amount of joyousness.”

Loki inspected the menu, eyes trailing over lists of strange milk and syrups and foam, a smile crossing his lips. “What a brilliant idea.” He began to select drinks at random, twisting each with his own touch of artistry. “Let’s have a soy milk Stark Steamer, Howard Hot Chocolate saturated with salt, a sugarfree Iron-Abbs Energy Drink, a Tony Tea Latte with a splash of cotton candy syrup, one Rocket-Booster Beverage filled halfway with jalepeño whipped cream, and the Philanthropist Foamed Milk with six pumps of zero-calorie carrot cake sweetener. Tony brain for all, please.” He took a breath. You could really tell who funded the place. “Oh, and mix in whatever you need to make them all green.”

“Is there anything else you would like to purchase today?” the suit asked pleasantly, unphased by Loki’s chaotic beverage poetry. “Our Billionaire Bites are fresh from the oven.”

“Oh, no, that will be all.” Stark must have enjoyed making this place. 

“And what’s the name for the order?”

“Odin is old,” Loki replied smoothly.

“Your order will be eighty five dollars.”

Loki looked at Thor. “Brother, do you have any coins?”

Thor instinctively touched his belt. “Well, yes, but the point is for you…”

Loki reached out with his magic and the coins solidified in his hand. He let them spill from his palm onto the counter. “That should more than cover you.”

“No, brother, you cannot!” Thor protested, “I won that gold with my honor in Vanaheim…”

And they called Loki the god of lies. “You lost an arm wrestling challenge and threw a tantrum until they paid you to leave.”

“Well,” Thor stumbled to find an argument. “Yes, but…”

Loki cut him off. “It’s real gold,” he insisted to the suit. “Could buy you a nice new paint job.”

The suit tilted its head down, scanning the coins. “This currency is invalid.”

Loki glanced around, spotting a fan of thin green paper bills in the hands of the girl behind him. “Fine,” he said, morphing his magic into the paper and placing it on the counter. “There. Keep the gold as a courtesy.” He turned briskly, walking to the waiting area and bracing himself for another lecture.


	5. Beverage Man is Everyone's Favorite Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor has tried to teach Loki to spread kindness by buying the Midgardian customers of Starkbucks drinks. But a free drink from Loki always comes with a twist.

“Loki,” Thor said as he walked to his brother. He slipped his glasses from his nose and hooked them on his shirt, eyebrows drawn together in contemplation. “That was… wonderful!” He broke into a smile. “Your diplomacy skills are blossoming.”

Loki stared at him, taken aback by the sudden warmth. “Yes?”

“Yes!” Thor brightly confirmed. “I’m proud of you, little brother” 

“Don’t call me little. I’m not little.” This was why he wore heels.

“Sure you are. A little greasy.”

Before Loki could shoot back with a witty remark, Thor noticed a poster on the wall. Stark Industries: Want to fly high in your achievements and work for the coolest boss on the planet? We have the perfect job for you! He tore the poster from the wall, yanking a pen from the sign-up sheet.

Loki folded his arms, amused. “You want to work for Tony Stark? A great deal brighter than father, I’ll admit, but I’m not sure he’s looking for war gods.”

Thor turned the sheet in his hand, smiling. “I think I’d like to meet him, this Tony Stark.”

“Odin is old!” The suit interrupted. 

Loki grinned. “That’s my cue.”

He strolled to the counter, pleased by the array of toxic-looking drinks, a sickly green that seemed it would gurgle to life. He carefully lifted two cups from the counter. “Brother,” he said, examining the strange foamy liquid sloshing under the lids. “Come help me spread joy to these mortals.”

Thor approached the counter, patting Loki’s back heartily. “You have made such great progress. I was beginning to fear you could not be helped, but…” He surveyed the array of potentially indigestible drinks. “Is this truly what sparks joy in the hearts of Midgardians?”

Loki turned from the counter, eyeing a group of unsuspecting mortals. “Most definitely.”

Thor loaded the remaining green drinks into his arms. “I still cannot understand why they do not serve ale.” 

They walked to the line of Midgardians and began to graciously hand out Loki’s concoctions. 

Loki watched as a man took a sip of the drink and gagged, spitting it out. “What is this!?” he exclaimed.

“Courtesy of Tony Stark,” Loki said helpfully. 

Thor knit his eyebrows together, watching the mortals’ nauseous expressions. “They are not joyous, brother,” he remarked.

Loki grinned. He held out his hands, splaying his fingers elegantly as the magic pulsed through his body and launched into the air, infusing itself in the drinks. The foamy liquid began to glow and bubble, expanding until it pressed against the lids and popped them off, spraying like sugary volcanos. “I can’t imagine why.” The Midgardians screamed, throwing their drinks to the ground. The liquid splattered across the clean tile, spreading and stretching until the puddles of drinks had merged. The green mass of liquid inflated, lifting up to the height of a grown man, curving in places until it resembled a humanoid creature. The features on its head sharpened, revealing a sarcastic smile and a distinguishable goatee. An eerie reminiscence to a certain playboy billionaire philanthropist. 

“I am Beverage Man!” the liquid monster gurgled.

The mortals persisted in their screaming, the sight of liquefied Tony Stark burned forever into their retinas, waiting to haunt them in their dreams. They scrambled out the door in a heated panic.

Loki laughed, extracting the magic from the liquid. The monster splashed into a puddle in an instant, coating the fancy floor in sticky green.   
Thor wiped a splatter of beverage concoction from his face. “Loki!” he exclaimed, “Not again!” He gestured to the puddle of green drink. “Clean up this mess!”

“Why do you think that was my fault?” Loki questioned innocently, “There must have been something strange in the drinks. It looked like Stark, after all.”  
Thor crossed his arms. “I am very disappointed in you, Loki.”

Loki pressed a hand to his heart, filling his eyes with mock terror. “Dear me, you sounded so much like father I thought he had died and come to haunt me.” He carefully maneuvered around the puddle until he reached the counter. Two drinks remained, one steaming in a red and gold cup, the other in a clear cup with a swirl of blue syrup on the whipped cream that resembled an arc reactor. Loki took one drink in each hand, smiling at the Iron Man suit, which stared back at him blankly. “Thanks for the refreshments. Tell Stark you had a low-key encounter with his favorite fashionista.”


	6. Coffee Leaves a Bitter Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Loki spins a lesson on generosity into a chaotic beverage monster, Thor is fed up with his brother. Thor's frustration draws out an unexpected bitterness in the god of mischief. The brothers share a heartfelt moment.

Loki turned and made his way back to Thor, skirting the pool of green liquid as the janitor suit returned with a mop. Loki handed Thor his beverage, watching the suit struggle to clean up the wonderful mess.

“I’m still angry with you,” Thor said, sipping from the blue straw. His eyes lit with brief enjoyment, but he quickly forced on a deliberate stormy disapproval. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Yes, yes, I know.” Loki brushed past the mopping suit and opened the door, gesturing for Thor to exit. “Kittens first.”

The two gods left the coffee shop. Thor slurped his drink noisily to ensure Loki was aware of his frustration. Loki took a small sip from his cup, savoring the bitter taste. 

“You think he liked me?” he asked Thor, mind returned to the suit barista with good fashion sense. 

“Who?” Thor grumbled. “Tony Stark?”

“Oh, no. Tony’s practically my best friend. I mean that suit at the counter. I can’t quite work out if it was a man or an android. I’m not exactly sure how I would feel about going on a date with an artificial intelligence, but—”

“This is no time for dates,” Thor interrupted, voice strained with exasperation. “I’m trying to teach you the ways of a prince. This is important business!”

“You’re just jealous,” Loki replied airily.

“You’re trying to change the subject,” Thor gripped his drink tightly, frustration ringing in his voice. “I don’t understand why you’re so intent on creating chaos. I’m doing this for you. But it seems no matter what lesson I teach, you do not learn. You never learn.”

The bitter taste in Loki’s mouth sunk into his chest, coiling around his insides like a snake. “What am I to learn, Thor?” he said harshly, “How to hug? How to do party tricks and purchase drinks?” The bitterness inside him squeezed tighter, forcing air from his lungs and pinching his heart. His voice rose, words raw. “All your lessons on how to be a prince, none of that will help. You know as well as I that father…” Loki hesitated. The fangs of jealousy pierced into his center, draining his fragile confidence, venom pounding through his blood, building pressure under his eyes, stinging them until he could hold back tears no longer. The truth slipped out in a whisper. “Father is never going to choose me.”

“Loki…” Thor’s voice softened. “Now that’s not true. It is to be a fair fight. And whatever happens…” He paused, placing his hand on Loki’s shoulder. “You will always be my brother.”

Loki looked away.

Thor was quiet. After a moment, he spoke, his previous anger cooled to a near sensitivity. “One more lesson.”

Loki fixed his gaze on his cup, steam curling out like the smoke of a dragon. “What’s that?”

“Cleaning up messes.” Thor looked out at the strange realm, Midgardians milling about under the dim sun. “A good king is able to see the problems in his kingdom. Even the ones he creates, and he is able to put in the work to make everything alright again.” He gestured to a small park where people were spearing plastic and cans with spikes, collecting rubbish in large black bags. Thor smiled, attempting to lighten the mood. “You’ll love it. You get to stab things.”

“Well…” Loki said, wiping the tears from his eyes as he lifted his gaze. “That is tempting.”


	7. Lesson Four: Only Mischief Can Clean up Messes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor wants Loki to clean up his mess by collecting garbage in the park. But this time, it's Thor's turn to be taught a lesson. Maybe the god of storm can enjoy a bit of mischief. And maybe Loki loves his brother after all...

The brothers walked to the rubbish collectors. Loki shifted their clothes to match the workers’ blue uniforms. He shrouded their drinks in magic to form long pointed sticks. Thor smiled down at the disguise and began his hunt for plastic bags.

Loki weighed the stick-turned-beverage in his hands. He weighed Thor’s words.

But mischief tipped the balance every time. 

He looked down at the grass. Endless possibilities… but he decided to stick to a classic. Carefully, Loki tapped into his last reserve of magic, forming black snakes that slid through the grass like ribbons. A heartbeat later, the familiar chorus of Midgardian screams rang out.

Thor looked to Loki immediately, disappointment settling in his eyes. “Brother.”

“Brother,” Loki replied, leveling his gaze with Thor’s. “I have something to teach you.” He looked out across the park of panicking Midgardians. “Go save them.”

Thor squinted at Loki, confused. “What?”

“Rescue them from the snakes and be a hero.”

“But…” Thor looked to the flailing mortals, the disapproval in his eyes melting into intrigue. His tight frown curved into a smile, and he stepped forward, golden hair gleaming and stick poised like a scepter. “Fear not, mortals!” he announced, “I will save you!” The storm god raced across the grass. He scooped one snake up in his fist, thrusting it above his head. Loki moved his fingers delicately, the puppeteer of the battle, and the snake hissed, spraying venom across his brother’s face. Thor wiped the imaginary liquid away with one gallant motion. He spun around and seized a large plastic bag, hurling the magic snake inside. “Would another of you snakes dare to face the Mighty Iam?” he roared, turning to look each enemy in the eye. The snakes charged at him from all sides, inky serpents slithering in unison. The mortals gasped at the display, staggering away frantically and watching with awe. Thor swung his Starkbucks stick threateningly, jamming it into the earth. A snake, quick and fluid as water, began to curl up the thunder god’s weapon. With an exaggerated grunt, he yanked the snake from the stick and tossed it in the bag. Thor persisted to lunge at the snakes, thunder crackling in the distance until he wrestled every last one of them into the bag. When the enemy had been vanquished, he secured the bag with a knot and stood, skin glistening with sweat and streaked with dirt.

The Midgardians burst out into a cheer, remarking on this strange man’s bravery and strength, offering their eternal gratitude. 

After Thor had drunk up every last drop of praise, he sauntered over to Loki, laughing. “Oh, brother… Perhaps I misjudged your tricks.”

Loki smiled. “Perhaps.” He let the blue uniforms fade back into their Midgardian clothing, the sticks becoming drinks once more. Loki looked down at Thor’s shirt and felt a strange twinge in his chest. He hesitated, the feeling forcing words from his mouth. “There’s something I must tell you. Iam Anidiot is not a real person.”

“What?” Thor said, surprise filling his wide blue eyes. “Then why…” He looked down at his shirt, apprehension striking him like lightning. “Loki!” he exclaimed. “You think me an idiot?”

Loki hesitated. “Well… ”

“Brother!”

“Alright, alright. I admit it was mean. I…” Loki looked up at his brother, taking a slow breath. “I am sorry.” 

Thor broke into a smile. “It’s alright. Perhaps you should check behind your back.”

“What?” Loki felt his back, fingers brushing a piece of paper. He peeled the paper off and held it in front of him. There, on the back of the Stark Industries advertisement, Thor had sketched Loki in messy lines. The eyebrows were tilted down in disapproval, the hair dramatically long. Above the picture, Thor had scrawled, WANTED: VAMPIRE. REWARD: 50,000 GOLD. Loki laughed in spite of himself. “That’s not funny, Thor.”

“It’s not meant to be,” Thor said evenly, “It’s a serious notice. This realm is not safe with such a creature roaming around.”

Loki placed his hands on his hips, feigning annoyance. “I looked like an idiot all day.”

“Yes, well, could have been worse.” Thor grinned, taking a loud sip of his frappuccino. “You best be thankful no one kicked me.” 

Loki smiled, still inspecting the drawing. “Good to see you pulling pranks, brother.”

“Good to see you acting like a prince for a change.”

“Ha ha.” Loki lowered the paper, looking at his brother doubtfully. “You have a lovely sense of humor.”

“It is no jest,” Thor insisted, “You apologized. What could be more princely than that?”

“I…” Loki hesitated, sudden realization smashing into his mind. “Wait a second. You knew the whole time, didn’t you?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean,” Thor replied casually.

“You knew what the shirt said from the very beginning,” Loki insisted. “You wanted to see if I would apologize. Clean up my mess… It was a test!”

Thor shrugged. “That’s awfully complicated for me, Loki.” 

Loki looked at his brother with a newfound respect. Maybe there was a hint of mischief stirring in those stormy eyes after all. “You know, with a little training… Perhaps you’d make a fine trickster.”

“And you’d make a fine king.” Thor extended his arms. “Come here, brother. Remember our first lesson?”

“Oh, I don’t—” But Loki was too late. Thor locked him in an embrace. “You’re crushing me,” Loki protested, feeling his ribs compress. After a moment, he sighed, a smile crossing his lips. Perhaps Thor wasn’t so bad after all. Loki hugged his brother back.

Thor finally pulled away. “Well, brother,” he said, gazing out over the park, “I believe it is time to return home.”

“Finally,” Loki replied, though the word wasn’t as solid as he’d imagined. He hesitated, looking around at the realm one last time. Crowded shops and busy streets, hideous clothing and squealing children, drinks the size of Tony Stark’s ego and community service workers taking refuge from snakes. “You know… perhaps this realm isn’t as disgusting as I thought. I may yet have a statue of myself built right up there.” He motioned to Starkbucks, the tallest building on the street. 

“I am sure this is not the last of our adventures in Midgard.” Thor clapped his hand on Loki’s shoulder with painful affection and looked up to the skies. “Heimdall, open the Bifrost!”

The two brothers were swept away by a tunnel of rainbow.


	8. The Princes Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Thor and Loki's adventures in Midgard, it's time to go back home.

Thor and Loki sat at the end of the royal halls, perched in front of the throne. Each brother leaned against an armrest. Loki had let their Midgardian outfits dissolve, and Thor’s cape spilled over the ledge. They sipped what remained of their Starkbucks drinks thoughtfully, looking out over the throne room.

Thor watched the light dribble down the staircase in front of him. “You know…” he said slowly, “I think the throne is overrated.”

Loki raised his eyebrows, surprised. “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”

Thor laughed softly. “I see why you like it, Loki. You can look out at the gold, look down on everything…” He paused, shaking his head. “But there’s really nothing here, is there?”

Loki looked out across the grandeur of the golden room. “You’ve gone quite mad.”

“Perhaps.” Thor took a long sip of his frappuccino. 

Silent for a moment, Loki’s gaze slipped across the heavy shadows of the room. He noticed, suddenly, how hollow it was. How silent. How empty. “I suppose there’s not much to do up there,” he said finally, looking up at the throne. The object of his dreams. The center of every thought. His narrative was clear, held in the eternity of Heimdall’s eyes, painted on the mural above him. Two princes locked in competition for the crown. Poetic and final. He shifted his gaze down to his brother, looking peacefully across the room. Perhaps he had gotten the story wrong this whole time. Loki lightened his tone to ease the weight of his thoughts, offering Thor a lighthearted smile. “Besides nap. What do you want to bet the only reason Odin has an eyepatch at all is so he can doze off without anyone noticing?”

Thor grinned. “Father needs his beauty sleep.”

“Desperately,” Loki agreed. The image of his father’s face in his mind, Loki felt a sudden need to preserve his glamour. The small bottle of black nail polish drew his gaze like a magnet. “I suppose there is one thing you can do on a throne.”

Thor looked up at the bottle. “Explain to me, brother. Why do you coat your nails in paint?”

“Well you see Thor, it’s this little thing called fashion,” Loki plucked the nail polish from the armrest, setting his drink in its place. He held the cool glass between his fingers. His thoughts turned to the disgusting Midgardian swathed in unflattering fabric and offending the very earth beneath him with his footwear. “If you remember, that was the real Lesson One of our trip.” 

“I don’t understand, but...” Thor’s voice trailed off as he looked at the bottle, contemplating. 

Loki was struck with pleasant surprise. “You want me to paint your nails, brother?”

Thor set his frappuccino down beside him and held out his hands, examining their blandness. “If father is upset by your blackened nails, you shall not face that anger alone.”

“Fantastic,” Loki said, warmed by the sentiment. “We’ll clean horse stables together.” He unscrewed the cap of the polish and began to paint his brother’s nails. 

“What would be the best part of being king, do you think?” Thor pondered, gaze wandering the vast room.

“The clothes,” Loki replied easily. “Golden crowns, flowing capes, you know. More jewelry.” He applied the nail polish carefully. “What about you? Limitless mead?”

“I think I’d like to travel the realms. An agent of travel,” he recalled proudly.

Loki finished painting Thor’s nails and smiled, screwing the cap back on to the bottle. “So Asgard is doomed, then?”

“Asgard is doomed.”

With that, the throne room door opened, a slab of light glittering gold across the floor. Loki’s chest tightened with fear, but instead of white hair and an eyepatch, Loki saw the sky blue robes of his mother.

“Mother!” The princes called in unison. 

Loki slipped the nail polish into his pocket, following Thor as he rushed down the steps to Frigga. “Brother, wait, you have to let—” Loki held his breath as Thor enveloped their mother in a hug, deathly afraid the nail polish would stain the silk of her clothing. Frigga laughed, patting Thor’s back affectionately. 

“My sons,” she said, looking up at the drinks abandoned on the throne. “What were you two doing up there?”

Thor released Frigga from his hug. “Enjoying the view,” he said enthusiastically.

“Is that right?” Frigga asked, eyeing the polish glistening on Thor’s nails. “Well, I hope you’ve had a little more fun than that.” She lifted her arms and drew Loki into an embrace.

Loki hugged his mother, relieved to find her robes free of paint. He savored her smell of honey and flowers before pulling away. “No, mother. It was dreadfully boring.”

Frigga looked between the two princes. “So your father won’t find snakes in his undergarments or spit out his mead when it becomes a live creature.”

“Nope!” Thor chimed. 

“No snakes,” Loki agreed.

“You boys really didn’t stir up any kind of mischief?” Frigga’s knowing eyes sparkled as they met Loki’s.

Loki smiled innocently. “Mischief? Now that doesn’t sound like me at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!


End file.
